The buzz of conversation started again, a little lower this time as the guests tried to discern why Caroline was there and what their proper reaction should be.
Huntington swooped in, his short cape fluttering behind him. “Goose always has the eye for the handsomest lady in the room.”
The piano and the harp started playing again, sharply and quickly. Huntington had just made sure every female there eyed Caroline with disfavor, and her cool smile contained an edge she hoped he recognized. “A sincere compliment is a lady’s finest friend, my lord, and while I doubt not your sincerity, I must ask—is your opinion of beauty to be trusted?” She heard a small gasp from a plain young woman seated stiffly between two young men.
Both young men, Caroline noted, wore cravats of brilliant hues.
Nicolette moved to rescue the conversation. “Or perhaps it is his sincerity that’s at fault. For often he’s told me I’m the handsomest lady in London.”
Goose chuckled. “Right enough. Huntington’s a ramshackle sort of fraud.”
“Exactly.” The accented voice came from behind Caroline. “Lord Huntington cannot be trusted with his compliments. Miss Ritter, depend upon me for the truth.”
She turned to see an older gentleman. His shock of white-blond hair sprang in abundance around his thin, aristocratic face and in the middle of his forehead his hairline formed a point. His bow was courtly, European in flavor, and with a shock, she recognized him. “Comte de Guignard, my rescuer in the park.” She lavished a smile on him. After all, it wasn’t his fault she hadn’t really needed rescuing. He had been as gallant as a dream. “Or one of my rescuers. Where is Monsieur Bouchard?”
“I am here.” Monsieur Bouchard stepped forward, a man so overburdened by his mustache that it looked as though the weight of it had dragged the hair off his head. When she’d met him in the park, he’d been smoking a fat brown cigar, and he had smelled of the smoke. Although the cigar was gone, he reeked. He made an abrupt bow, and she thought he must come from a common background, more common even than her own, for his social graces seemed tacked on, learned late in life and not at all a part of his personality. “You are recovered.”
“I am. Thank you both for being so chivalrous to a lady you didn’t know.” She spoke to them, but she directed the message at the hovering Lord Huntington. “Your kindness lit a warmth in my heart.”
Comte de Guignard was in the prime of life; in other words, at that delicate age where men realized they were no longer the youngest and strongest males in the pack, and they always made fools of themselves over younger women. Caroline had seen it occur time and again; she smiled, she spoke, she teased, and the gentlemen became infatuated. She never intended for it to happen; she simply pandered to their vanity and their disappearing youth, and suddenly they fell in love with her.
Now she saw it occur again. At her words, Comte de Guignard straightened his already straight spine, pulled back his muscled shoulders, and jutted his chin. “It was a pleasure I’ve dwelled on, hoping to renew our social contact, but alas, although I looked, I saw you nowhere.”
“Yes. Speaking of contact, Miss Ritter, I see you’ve furthered your friendship with Lord Huntington.” Monsieur Bouchard’s eyes flicked between her and Huntington. It sounded like a statement, but it was a question, and rather an authoritative one.
Obviously, Monsieur Bouchard didn’t fall in love as easily as Comte de Guignard, and his query brought all the assembly straining to hear her answer.
But Caroline didn’t have to—didn’t want to—explain her connection with Huntington, so she used her smile with a hint of reserve. “I have.” She glanced around the small gathering, and with humor in her tone, said, “He improves on acquaintance.”
“Miss Ritter is a friend of mine,” Nicolette said easily. “We had lost track of each other, and I was delighted to find her again. I’m sure you’ll frequently see us together. In fact, she’s staying with us.”
Caroline saw the news travel from one ear to another until it had reached the far edges of the drawing room. She wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that it hopped out the window and flew through the streets of London like some kind of gossip bird that squawked like a town crier. Miss Ritter is the guest of the duke of Nevett and his wife, and their son visits frequently.
As she’d feared, this arrangement held all the hallmarks of disaster. She had to move quickly to establish her presence was not of a romantic nature. Unless one could call one extremely glorious kiss romantic—which she did not.
“Like all English ladies, Miss Ritter appreciates my social graces and the advice I can give her about the ways of the Continent.” Huntington preened like a peacock.
Ah. Her chance came at once. “I beg you, my lord, don’t put words in my mouth. I can speak for myself, and while Comte de Guignard and Monsieur Bouchard bring a Continental flare to our gathering”—Caroline extended a gracious hand to Comte de Guignard—“it’s the English ladies who make the gathering bloom.”
“You are wise. It is indeed the captivating ladies who brought us to England.” Comte de Guignard took her hand and bowed over it, then bowed again, a flawless, elegant bow that included all the company. “And their kindness to visitors that keeps us on your shores.”
A spattering of applause proved they had the attention of the nearby company, and provided unexpected approval to Caroline.
“Well said, Comte de Guignard,” Nicolette said. “We’re enchanted to have you and Monsieur Bouchard with us today.”
“Ecstatic!” Huntington flapped his handkerchief like an overenthusiastic spaniel.
The ladies in the room turned away as if embarrassed by his gusto, and Caroline wanted to groan. He had to marry, and if he couldn’t cajole a lady in this charitable gathering to sit with him, it would be impossible to find him a mate in society. Driven to distraction and despair, she caught his hand, halting the flip of the handkerchief, and hissed, “What are you doing? Stop that at once!”
She must have said it a little too loud, for conversation faded, then picked up again. She glanced from side to side, met gazes that sidled away, and blushed hotly.
“Of course.” Huntington put his handkerchief into his waistcoat pocket. “I obey you implicitly.”
“Pish-tosh!” she retorted sharply. “Ladies hear such promises, and none of us expect them to be fulfilled.”
“Miss Ritter. You have wounded me deeply!” But Huntington’s mouth lifted in an abashed grin.
The ladies tittered, the gentlemen guffawed, and the company relaxed.
At last Caroline dared to look around—and at once caught the cold, beady gaze of Lady Reederman. Lady Reederman didn’t pretend to converse, nor did she make welcome the female she had once publicly and deliberately cut. Instead she observed, withholding her judgment for one reason and one reason only—because the duchess of Nevett sponsored Caroline. Lady Reederman might not like to keep quiet, but she prided herself on her exceptional propriety, and as Nicolette’s guest she would do nothing that could be interpreted as a criticism of her hostess. But her basilisk gaze gave Caroline to understand that she would never approve of a young lady whose past was decidedly shady.
Turgoose must have seen the direction of Caroline’s gaze, or noticed his mother’s imitation of a lemon ice, for he said, “You’re so amusing, Miss Ritter. The fellows all agree society has been a wasteland without your most excellent company.”
Nicolette stepped between Lady Reederman and Caroline. “Miss Ritter, might I introduce those who are unknown to you?”
Caroline hesitated, and Jude thought she was tempted to beg off. Her conflict was real, he knew. She faced the prospect of chilly greetings, and those were kind compared to the reaction she would have confronted without his stepmother’s patronage. Yet when he was done with her, she’d thank him for introducing her into society once more. And he would thank her for confusing and distracting the Moricadians.
“I would consider it a privilege to meet your guest
s, Your Grace,” Caroline said with dignity.
No one read the look she shot him, but he followed on her unspoken command.
Turgoose hurried after them.
De Guignard and Bouchard put their heads together and spoke softly, no doubt wondering at Huntington’s fascination with the woman he had had no time for before. Even now they considered him a fool, easily led, and he thought, with a little more prodding, they might try to use him in their plan. He couldn’t imagine either one of them wanted to dirty their hands with the details, and he would willingly be their pawn.
With every evidence of keenness, he walked back to them, and said, “I have left off fighting my enthrallment, and surrender to her magic. She is almost French in her magnificence, is she not?”
“She is lovely,” de Guignard agreed.
“As she was only a week ago,” Bouchard added.
“Your admiration for her made me realize her quality,” Jude said. “I find myself guided by your superior sophistication. Fancy that!”
“Yes.” Bouchard considered him closely. “Fancy that.”
“You must someday allow me to share your activities. For a single day, I would love to do as you do!”
“Perhaps it can be arranged,” de Guignard said.
“Truly?” Jude laid a hand on his cheek. “Oh, venerable day! I await your notice.” Then he left to rejoin the little group making a tour of the room, for although he wanted to look anxious to please, he didn’t want to be too anxious; Bouchard was sharp and suspicious, and if he smelled the slightest whiff of conspiracy, all Jude’s work would be undone.
“This is Miss Foley and her sister, Miss Lydia,” he heard Mum say as she introduced Caroline to the pianist and the harpist. “They are the belles of the Season.”
“For more reasons than their beauty! Miss Foley, Miss Lydia, your music is enchanting. I wish I had an ounce of your talent.” Caroline displayed a remarkable ability to inject the right admiration into her tone, for the Foley sisters blushed, murmured disclaimers, and looked delighted.
“Miss Ritter, I believe you know my sister, Lady James,” Miss Foley said shyly. “She says you are friends.”
“She speaks of you often,” Miss Lydia added.
Miss Ritter smiled a slow, incredulous smile.
Because he couldn’t help himself, Jude smiled, too. Then he noticed everyone in their circle was smiling, bemused smiles, unwilling smiles, amazed smiles. Her pleasure was contagious, a blessing they all shared. He felt the pride of ownership—foolish when she so obviously needed no man. He felt the tug of lust—madness when they’d shared only one kiss. A kiss that had seared itself into his mind and loins and made him want what he couldn’t have. A kiss that had sent him all over town, stalking the Moricadians night and day rather than face hours in his bed alone.
“I do know Lady James!” Miss Ritter put her hand over her heart. “As you are, she was the belle of my Season, beautiful and gracious. When next you see her, extend her my greeting.”
Stepping to Nicolette’s side, Jude murmured, “I see you larded the guest list with people likely to be compatible with Miss Ritter.”
“You cannot fault me for inviting guests whom I knew would be congenial,” Nicolette murmured back.
“No hostess wants to be known for an acrimonious gathering.” He glanced toward the circle of chairs where the matrons sat. “But I don’t think it’s all going to be smooth sailing.”
Mum flicked a glance in that direction. “Ah, Lady Reederman. As always, the maggot in the punch bowl.”
Jude coughed to disguise his laughter.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her,” Mum said in a steely tone. “I’ve grown fond of Miss Ritter. I have no intention of allowing anyone to cause her awkwardness.”
“Lord Huntington, have you met these lovely young ladies?” Caroline asked. She drew him into the musical circle.
Under her tutelage, he became a likely suitor to the Misses Foley.
But he didn’t linger when Mum moved Miss Ritter to the next group. Even without his plan to distract society with his courtship of Miss Ritter, he wouldn’t have remained behind. The Misses Foley were sweet and attractive, young and insipid, and of no interest to him.
A tense moment occurred when Mum presented Miss Ritter to Lady Reederman, but Miss Ritter curtsied, and Lady Reederman inclined her head, and nothing untoward happened.
Finally, Miss Ritter and her ever-growing entourage arrived at the sofa where a vaguely familiar young lady sat with Lord Merrill-Sanersone and Lord Hollis. Both young men wore bright cravats, and they were trying to please the lady. Odd, for she was no beauty.
“Lady Pheodora Osgood of the Rochdale Osgoods, this is Miss Ritter,” Mum said.
Lady Pheodora, Lady Pheodora…oh, Lady Pheodora. Ahh, Lady Pheodora from the park. Lady Pheodora whom he’d mistaken for his governess. She looked better than she had last week, not quite as plain. She sported a new hairstyle or had done something with her garments. Or perhaps it was simply an increased belief in her own charms. “Lady Pheodora, we meet again.”
Looking disconcerted, she pushed her spectacles up her nose. “Yes. Yes, we do. Did you have more lessons in the park?”
Obviously, she didn’t have any idea what she was asking, and everyone in the vicinity looked between Jude and Lady Pheodora with a puzzled interest.
She had probably thought him crazy, and thinking back on their conversation, he didn’t blame her. “I’ve restricted my lessons to the schoolroom,” he said gravely. “But thank you for asking. You’re most kind.”
The suitors stood until the introductions were completed, then bowed almost reverently to Jude. “Lord Huntington,” Lord Hollis said, “I think I speak for us both when I say how very much we admire your bold style.”
“Really?” Jude’s gaze lingered on those cravats. “Some say I’ve done a terrible thing by introducing such excesses into society.”
“But you don’t listen, do you, Huntington?” Lord Merrill-Sanersone said enthusiastically. “You go your own way without a care for anyone’s opinion.”
“Apparently,” Jude said with a dry wit that no one noticed—except that Caroline cocked her head and examined him a little too closely. With a jolt, he realized he’d have to be careful around her. She was coming to know him too well, and pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, he waved it like a flag before a bull. He knew very well how that irritated her.
And as a distraction, it worked marvelously well. Her eyes narrowed on him, and as if her unspoken reprimand made him remember his manners, he tucked the handkerchief away once more.
Turning her attention to Lady Pheodora once more, Caroline said, “I know this is incredibly impertinent, but who made your indoor cap? I would love to imitate you.”
Lady Pheodora touched the lacy bit of froth in her hair with astonishment. As if a dam had burst, she said, “Do you like it? Dear Mama said it wouldn’t do, but I designed it myself and sewed it from Belgian lace. Mama said I had better listen to my cousin Letty about fashion, but I don’t always agree with her, especially about this. I thought my cap was pretty.”
“Not to disagree with your dear mama, but you have exceptional taste.” Miss Ritter’s voice was warm and persuasive.
Jude noted that the other ladies leaned closer and listened as the two discussed the style, and he realized that between him and Miss Ritter they would be responsible for some of the worst fashion quirks since his grandmother’s dampened gown.
If he were in need of social instruction, she would be the ideal teacher, for she demonstrated a gift for saying the right thing to set everyone at ease.
And if he were Michael, he’d enjoy this brush with passion. He would kiss her because pretty girls were meant to be kissed. If she offered herself, he would take her. And when the time came for Miss Ritter to sail off to France, Michael would escort her to the docks. With great affection he would wave her off, and before the ship was out of sight he would have forgotten about
her. Jude wasn’t Michael, for he had begun to suspect he would never forget Caroline Ritter.
With a glance out the door at the hovering servants, Mum said, “The tea is ready. We shall serve.”
At once Phillips appeared, leading a parade of liveried footmen bearing cups and saucers, pitchers of cream, and bowls of sugar. Without making a sound, they set up on the immense sideboard.
Goose took Miss Ritter’s hand and started toward a sofa.
“Move aside, man.” Jude jostled him. “Let the rest of us have a chance.”
“I say!” Turgoose sputtered. “You shan’t take my place.”
“What about m…me?” Lord Vickers was not yet twenty and had fallen instantly in love with Miss Ritter, and he stammered with youthful indignation. “I should have a ch…chance with her.”
“What about you?” The twenty-five-year-old marquess of Routledge smiled with all the confidence of a man with wealth, title, and comeliness. “What about me? I’m desolated by Miss Ritter’s reserve.”
Turning his gaze on Caroline, Jude got a shock.
As she gazed on the assemblage determined to admire her, she looked different. Like a temptress, like an accomplished flirt, like a woman who knew how to hold men in thrall with a glance of her slumberous eyes. He saw the woman she might have become if catastrophe hadn’t overtaken her, and that woman was irresistible to him.
A swift look around confirmed his suspicions. Every man here watched her with hungry desire, their eyes alight.
Then she changed. She stood upright, looked stern, and spoke briskly. “Gentlemen, I value your flattery as it deserves. Now go”—she glared meaningfully at Jude—“away.”
He did, spent the rest of the tea splitting his time between Lady Pheodora and the Misses Foley, and afterward remembered not a damned word they said.
But the memory of Miss Ritter’s seductive moment haunted him all through the night.
Chapter 14
“Dear, you should have seen it.” Nicolette swept into the library, talking as she came. “She made him behave.”